


Baseline

by SailorChibi



Series: Littles Are Known [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adult baby, Age Play, Baby Tony, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes is a Good Guy, Carrying, Comfort, Comfort No Hurt, Daddy Steve, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Helpful Clint, Hugs, Infantilism, Little Headspace, Little!Tony, Oblivious Tony, Pacifiers, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Fic, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, alternate universe - littles are known, bottles, bucky isn't sure where he wants to be yet, but just a cold, clint's headspace is about two-three years old, fluff with no angst, like i said no angst, little!Clint, non sexual age play, non sexual infantilism, tired tony, toddler Clint, tony has a baby headspace, worried steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: James figured out that Tony was sick, but Steve was the one who had to take care of the baby while dealing with Clint's "help".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for an anon who wanted Bucky figuring out that Tony was sick and informing Steve about it, with Clint "helping" Steve take care of Tony. Since I'm not 100% sure what Bucky's status is yet in this verse, I'm hoping this will suffice.

The robot swung in close, razor-sharp claw lifted. James lifted his metal arm just in time. The impact of the clash sent a shock down his spine and made his teeth ache. He dug his heels in, refusing to be pushed down or away, and had to listen to the robot’s outraged, high-pitched whine when it figured out that it couldn’t shove him off his feet. He smirked despite the strain and brought his other hand forward, shoving a gun deep into what counted as the robot’s guts. He fired.

The resulting blast left some burns on his face and hands, but he didn’t care. He’d had worse. He shoved the remains away and looked around, scanning the battlefield. Or what counted as a battlefield when you were in the middle of downtown Paris and a bunch of robots interrupted what was originally a very good breakfast. He mourned the plate of delicate French pastries that were now no doubt smashed under debris as he grabbed for a nearby chair to use as coverage.

High overhead, Iron Man swooped past and aimed a series of repulsor blasts as the hovering robots. Each one exploded on impact, but more kept coming to take their place. James watched out of the corner of his eye, knowing what was coming, and so he was ready when the chest piece of the armor unfolded to reveal missiles. He leapt for an overturned car just as Iron Man let loose with the missiles and ducked, shielding his head.

In the wake of a ringing silence, Iron Man flew over the car and landed on the ground about five feet away. His faceplate snapped up, revealing Tony Stark’s face. Stark stared at him in assessing silence for about ten seconds, then tossed something in James’s direction. He caught it automatically, realizing that it was an earpiece. He’d seen them before that time he’d broken into Steve’s hotel room to rifle through his things. 

“That’s a communicator,” Stark said. “If we’re working together, you put it in. I don’t want Steve coming down on my head just because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and I set off a missile in your ass.”

“You couldn’t catch my ass if you tried,” James said, turning the earpiece over. He knew it that there was a microphone built in, small though it was. And he knew, from hacking the frequency, that the microphone was strong enough to pick up every word he said. A prickly sense of unease nearly had him crushing the microphone outright.

“Don’t,” Stark blurted out. “Steve can’t hear you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

James paused, eyeing him. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I have the team’s comm switched off. I can’t listen to five other voices yelling at me and concentrate on the fight at the same time.”

That was a flat-out lie. Stark could have a dozen people yelling at him and he would be completely unfazed. James took a closer look at him and, for the first time, noticed the additional wrinkles across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. He was squinting too, even though the sun had long since gone down and the street was lit by lamps now. Either he was drunk, which was unlikely, or he had a hell of a headache.

Either way, he was probably telling the truth. James conceded, slipping the earpiece into his right ear. “If a word of this gets back to Steve, I’ll come after _your_ ass.”

“Join the club. Everyone wants me,” Stark said with what was probably supposed to be a smile. It came off as more of a grimace. “Now come on. Let’s get this over with before they cause another half a million dollars in damages.”

The faceplate snapped down and he took off before James could respond. James rolled his eyes at the retreating figure and stood up, sweeping his gaze over the street. He counted a dozen robots creeping towards him and reached for another gun, wishing that he had something better. But then, his time with Hydra had taught him to be resourceful if nothing else. It was amazing how much you could get done with some silverware and chunks torn off a car's engine when you were motivated.

“I’m going to see if I can shut them down remotely,” Stark’s voice said into his ear, as clear as though he’d been standing right next to James.

James grunted in response, kicking up his leg into a robot’s face. Metal squealed as the robot’s head flew off. He lost himself to the battle after that, occasionally hearing an update worth listening to from Stark, but for the most part he toned the man’s voice out. He didn’t mind the snark – it was more amusing than grim silence, anyway – but he wasn’t in the mood to participate.

At some point, Stark must have forgotten James was listening because he started to mutter to himself. More and more frequently, the conversation was punctuated by the kind of deep-chested coughs that made James’s own lungs ache in sympathy. It made him remember times when he’d been stuck listening to another little guy hack and cough like the world was ending, and those brief flashes of memory were annoying. He destroyed another eight robots to work off his frustration.

Finally, Stark let out a crow of triumph. He coughed right after, which kind of ruined the moment when all the robots simultaneously self-destructed. James watched the sparking remains fall from the sky. It was almost pretty if you ignored the fact that they were causing more of the property damage that Stark had been attempting to avoid. He kicked at a robot head as Stark landed again.

“Just like that, it’s over,” Stark said, faceplate flipping up. He sounded raspy. He must have realized that, because he cleared his throat and added, “Air filled with the remains of robot ashes is shit on the lungs.”

“I wouldn’t know,” James said absently, earlier suspicions confirmed when he saw the sweat beading across Stark’s forehead, plastering his bangs to his forehead. He had to wonder, out of idle curiosity, if Stark even realized that he was sick, or whether what would be obvious to everyone else had completely passed the genius by and he really did believe the air was just irritating his lungs.

“No, I suppose not. Super-soldier serum and all that. But that does look painful.”

James glanced at him sharply, then followed Stark’s eyes to his metal arm. Belatedly, he saw that it was dented in one particular spot, probably from blocking that robot. He tried to move the fingers of his hand and found that he couldn’t; any attempts were meant with a sharp pain that ran right up into his shoulder socket. He ground his teeth and just barely kept from stabbing Stark in the back when he found the man suddenly standing too close.

“Let me,” Stark said. “I can fix it. And fast, before SHIELD shows up. I’m guessing you don’t want them to know you’re here.”

“No tracers,” James gritted out.

“Who do you take me for?” The gloves of the armor retracted, revealing Stark’s hands. They were overly hot even against the cool metal of James’s arm, but Stark didn’t seem to notice the temperature difference. He was very gentle as he popped the dented plate, revealing the gears and wires underneath. 

Stark muttered to himself once or twice as he carefully shifted things around, freeing a wire here and there and rearranging things. “I could build you a better one, you know. Free of charge. Lighter, less cumbersome, stronger.”

“I like my arm,” James said, the tension in his shoulders easing as the pain stopped. He could even move his fingers again, and all it had taken was not even five minutes of Stark fiddling around. 

“But you could have a better arm,” Stark said.

That was probably true. Regardless, he gently grabbed Stark’s hands and pulled them away. “That’s enough. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“It’s almost like you think that not being in pain should is the baseline, never mind something like comfort,” Stark said, but he didn’t try to touch James’s arm again. 

“I’m not even sure I know what comfort is,” James said.

Stark’s eyes softened just a tiny bit. “I get that. Well, you’re all fixed up, or as good as I can do in the middle of the street without my tools. Seriously though. I’ve already been playing around with some concepts. It would take me a month, tops.”

“And in the meantime?”

Now Stark’s expression was all innocence. “I’m sure Steve would love to see you.”

James snorted and took a step back. “Yeah, I’m sure he would too. But I’m not ready for that.” The thought of having to be around Steve all the time kind of made him want to climb walls. He didn’t know enough about who he was yet, and he didn’t think he could sit through endless renditions of who he used to be.

“Fair enough. You should go then. SHIELD’s E.T.A. is seven minutes. Thanks for the help.”

In lieu of an answer, James just nodded. He still wasn’t sure what had driven him to jump into the battle in the first place. At first he’d had every intention of disappearing into the crowd before Stark saw him, but then a dozen robots had converged on the armor and nearly taken Stark down. James had moved before he was aware that he was going to, hauling robots off and freeing Stark. And then it was too late to run.

He left the earpiece on a robot’s leg where it would be found during the clean-up and headed into an alley. By the time SHIELD landed, he was a mile away and was in the process of leaving his clothing behind in a dumpster. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, he knew that Stark wouldn’t tell SHIELD he’d been there. Steve and the other Avengers, on the other hand, were a different story.

Still, he found he didn’t mind that much. One sighting wasn’t going to give anyone enough information to track him down, especially since he swiftly made plans to leave Paris and head for the country. On the way, he lifted a cell phone from drunk idiot and used that to send an international text message to a phone number he’d memorized a long time ago, knowing that Steve wouldn’t have changed it since. Stark had done him a favor by fixing his arm, so he figured he could do Stark a favor in return.

_Stark is sick. Take better care of your baby, punk._


	2. Chapter 2

It was just after two in the afternoon when Steve got the text. He, Clint and Natasha were on their way to Paris to meet up with Tony, even though Tony insisted that he had everything under control and really didn't need their assistance. SHIELD (meaning Fury) hadn't argued against their presence, which Steve took as unspoken approval. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, half-expecting to see a text from Tony telling them to turn around immediately, and saw something completely different. His pulse quickened as he read it again and again.

"What is it?" Natasha asked.

Silently, he showed her the screen. Her eyes widened a little, and so did Clint's when Steve showed the message to him. A grim silence settled through the cockpit. Steve wasn't sure what concerned him more, the fact that the text was undeniably from Bucky or that it claimed Tony was sick. He'd thought that Tony's voice had sounded a little hoarse when they spoke that morning, but Tony had insisted that it was just from lack of sleep. And since meetings in Paris, Russia, and Japan over a seven-day period would be enough to exhaust anyone, Steve hadn't pushed the matter too hard.

He was on pins and needles by the time that Clint landed the plane, and the car ride to where Tony was located seemed to take _forever_. It was a little disappointing to jump out and realize that Tony was standing on the street alone except for a handful of SHIELD agents helping with clean-up, but he couldn't say he was surprised. Bucky had been avoiding them for months now. It would've been too easy for him to be standing there waiting for Steve. He pushed aside the disappointment and curiosity - now wasn't the time to be pressing Tony for details - and walked quickly towards Tony.

"I told you, you didn't have to come," Tony said before Steve could say a word.

"And I told you that we were coming anyway," Steve replied. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, mother hen." The suit opened around Tony and he stepped out onto the street. It folded behind him, collapsing neatly into a briefcase which Tony then crouched to pick up. Steve had seen this fluid routine happen dozens of times and it never ceased to amaze him.

"You don't look fine," he said cautiously.

Tony straightened up with the briefcase in hand. "What do you mean?" He coughed a couple of times as he spoke, but genuinely didn't seem to understand what Steve was getting at.

"I think you might be sick, honey."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not," Tony said, eyebrows drawing together in genuine confusion. He coughed again. Steve just looked at him, and after a couple seconds Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm not. Really. The air is irritating my lungs, that's all."

"And what about the fact that you sound like you've been swallowing razors?" Steve asked, reaching out to press the back of his hand to Tony's forehead. Tony ducked out of reach, but not before Steve caught a quick feel. He was definitely warmer than he should've been, but not as bad as Steve had thought. A couple of degrees at the most.

"I've been fighting for the past six-plus hours," Tony grumbled. "And I need a drink of water. Cut me a break."

Steve sighed, sliding his shield onto his back. He recognized what was going on here. Sometimes Tony would deny that he was sick just because he didn't want to admit it. There was a whole variety of reasons behind that, most of which Steve preferred not to think about because it made him too angry. But a couple of times, Tony had literally not put two and two together and realized that he was sick until Steve or someone else pointed it out to him. It was like his genius brain was too busy rationalizing the symptoms away to actually stop and draw the correct conclusion. It was kind of adorable in a frustrating way. 

"Tony," he said as gently as possible, when he'd just undergone an uncomfortable and stressful six hour plane ride and had what was probably going to be an unpleasant night ahead of him. "Sweetheart, you're coughing. Your throat hurts. You have a headache. You're a couple degrees warmer than you should be. What does all of that add up to?"

Tony blinked a couple of times. ".... It was hot in the suit?" he offered lamely.

"The suit has a state of the art cooling system," Steve pointed out.

"Oh." Tony thought about it for a moment, coughed again, then smiled sheepishly. "I guess I might've caught a cold without realizing it."

Steve had to smile. "Yeah, I'd say you did. Now come on. We'll leave the clean-up to SHIELD. I asked JARVIS to book us a hotel room, since the room you and Pepper had..." He trailed off, glancing at the smoking remains of Tony's favorite Parisian hotel room. Tony pouted when he saw where Steve was looking and he started muttering about poorly designed robots under his breath. Steve let him ramble, sliding an arm around his shoulders and taking the briefcase suit from him. He led Tony over to Clint and Natasha.

"Everything good?" Natasha inquired.

"We're good. Tony and I are going back to the hotel. What about you guys?"

"Are you kidding me? We're in Paris," Natasha said, a gleam in her eyes. "And I have a credit card, courtesy of Tony Stark."

Tony pointed a finger at her. "If you buy any dumb tourist crap - "

"Relax. I have my eye on a pair of Louboutin heels."

"Oh. Well, carry on then."

Steve tried not to think about the price tags of said heels and glanced at Clint. "You?"

"I think I'll come back with you, if you don't mind," Clint said. "I'm tired."

"Not at all. You can help me take care of the baby. He has a cold."

"The baby is standing right here," Tony grumbled, flushing. Even the tips of his ears turned pink. Adorable.

"Outside in the cold," Natasha said. "You'd better hurry. Let me get out of your way." She turned and hurried away.

"You're not fooling anyone!" Tony yelled after her. Then, to Steve, he said, "She's going to end up costing me more than the damages did, isn't she?"

"Probably," Steve said, secretly amused. "But she wasn't wrong. Come on, boys."

He hustled both of them into a taxi, relieved to note that Clint had thought to snag their bags. Thankfully, the hotel wasn't that far away. In less than ten minutes, Steve was closing the door of the room behind them. Clint immediately threw himself down on the bed, but Tony disappeared into the bathroom without a word. Steve set down their bags and the briefcase armor and followed him, not surprised when he found Tony sitting on the side of the tub with his head in his hands. He crouched down in front of him.

"I have a headache," Tony muttered.

"I bet you do. How about a bath? That might help relax you."

Tony shook his head. "No bath. But I wouldn't mind a shower."

"Do you want help?"

For a long moment, Tony hesitated. Then he nodded, not looking at Steve. Steve smiled and stood up, stripping his own clothes off while Tony undressed. He switched on the shower, making sure that the water was the right temperature, then stepped inside and held a hand out to Tony. Tony took it and stepped into the tub, leaning his head against Steve's chest when Steve pulled him into a hug. Steve wrapped one arm around Tony's waist and grabbed the showerhead with his free hand, directing it onto Tony's back.

"I feel icky," he mumbled, sniffing. Then he coughed wetly.

"Shh, baby. Let me get you all clean and then you can relax."

"Not a baby," Tony said half-heartedly, seemingly content to lean against Steve and let him do all the work. He was dozing by the time that Steve was finished scrubbing them both down and barely stirred when Steve shut the water off. 

"Time to get dried off," Steve murmured to him, brushing the curtain aside so that he could grab a towel. It was huge and dwarfed Tony's body when Steve wrapped it around his shoulders. He picked Tony up and lifted him over the side of the tub, grabbing a second towel to toss around his own shoulders. He opened the bathroom door.

"I help!" Clint announced proudly.

"Uh, I see that," Steve said, surveying the room with a growing sense of dismay. Maybe leaving Clint alone hadn't been a wise idea after all. The contents of their bags were strewn everywhere, though apparently Clint had possessed enough self-preservation instinct to leave Natasha's bag alone. It seemed that Clint had been searching for Tony's baby stuff, because there was a diaper, some wipes, baby powder and diaper cream laid out on the bed. Very helpful so long as Steve overlooked the fact that the container of baby powder had somehow opened in the process; it had to be at least half empty, considering the other half was all over Clint and the floor.

"I got the diaper ready," Clint said, pointing to the bed.

"You sure did. Good job, buddy," Steve said, walking over to the bed. Upon closer inspection, there wasn't much diaper cream left in the jar. Most of it was smeared across one of the nightstands. Steve had no idea how that had even happened.

"Is Tony real sick?" Clint asked, jumping up onto the bed. Steve made sure the mattress had stopped bouncing before he set Tony down. By now, Tony was completely out except for the occasional cough, thumb tucked securely in his mouth.

"I don't think so. He just has a cold. Once I get him into a diaper, I'm going to give him some medication that'll make him feel all better," Steve told him. "Thank you for setting out the diaper. You're being a big help."

Clint puffed up with pride. "Can I get the medication ready?"

"I think you should let me do that. But I would appreciate it if you could grab a onesie for me."

"Okay!"

While Clint was preoccupied, Steve pushed Tony's thighs apart and quickly rubbed some of the diaper cream between his legs. He added a light sprinkling of baby powder and pulled the front of the diaper up right as Clint returned clutching both the onesies Steve had tossed into his bag while packing. Steve turned to him and paused, barely holding in a groan when he realized that the once clean onesies were now covered in diaper cream, baby powder and - was that chocolate? He turned his head and spotted the open mini bar. Yup. Chocolate.

"Thanks Clint," he said, taking the onesies. "You know what, I think Tony will be too hot in these. I'll just let him sleep in one of my t-shirts instead."

"I'll get it!"

"No! Actually, I have a real important job for you. I need you to stay here and keep Tony company while I get the shirt and the medicine. If he's alone, he could roll off the bed and hurt himself. Can you do that for me?" Steve asked.

Clint nodded very seriously. "Okay, Uncle Steve."

"That's my good boy." He patted Clint's head and grabbed the phone for the front desk, requesting that they send up some cold medication since he hadn't thought to bring any. Then he went over to his bag and took out a fresh t-shirt, taking another look around the room. Oh boy. Once he got Clint showered and dressed in fresh pajamas and a pull-up, got cold medicine and a bottle into Tony, _and_ got some food into both boys, he was gonna have quite the cleaning job to do.

But when he glanced back at the bed and saw Clint putting a hand on Tony's head, gently petting Tony's hair, he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


End file.
